Sherlock and the Missing Sister
by Jaime Lee
Summary: Jane seeks out the notorious detective to find her sister. Things take an unexpected turn and an unexpected relationship forms.
1. 1

"What the hell kind of a name is Sherlock?" I asked. I was trying to sound more curious than annoyed but I'm terrible at hiding my feelings.

"I don't know, girl, maybe it's more common in the UK", my friend Amy was a saint. She had to be to put up with me lately.

"It's not", interrupted the cab driver.

Not in the mood, I flashed a sarcastic thumbs up.

He was lucky I was there with my best friend holding my hand or I would have given him an earful. Instead I just rolled my eyes. London was dark and wet. The car tires splashed from street to street. It wasn't completely unlike any city anywhere in the states, with the tall old buildings, busy city streets filled with people cars bikes and buses. A pop of color standing out here and there through the drab rainy afternoon. I stared blankly out the window not noticing too much.

My clothes were thrown on in a typical sweater and leggings fashion I wear everyday and my medium dark hair pulled back in an efficient low ponytail. Simple, practical, plain Jane, that was me. Should I have dressed differently, maybe less homely to meet with the detective? I didn't care. The death of my sister has taken over most of my care. At least I had forced myself to shower. So here I was in London. I might of found it quite charming under different circumstances.

This was my first time overseas. After they found my sister's body a couple days ago in a London hotel, I've been snapping at anyone who dares give me a side look and I wanted to tell the driver to mind his own damn business. This wasn't home though. I didn't know this place or this cab. I was lost there in England. I was lost since my sister's death. The cop said that the coroner ruled it a suicide and the police swept any investigation under the rug. To them I guess it was cut and dry but I knew better. Poor Chelsea, I choked back tears as my friend gave my hand a little squeeze.

Being the first time out of the country, along with just losing my sister of course, made my brain feel foggy. I wanted to text her every time a british stereotype came to life before me and experience all the newness of the situation with her. Now here I was, because instead of spending a long weekend for work, she was found in a bathtub full of her own blood in a hotel room the same night she had arrived.

"This is it here, ladies", he said pulling up outside a sandwich shop with a door to the left labeled 221B. It was an old building made of flats and had storefronts wrapped around the sides. No sign for a detective Holmes, just the number 221B. Maybe he's modest, I thought. Plenty of people work out of their homes. I had read about a couple of his cases from blogs that Amy's brother had emailed me. Seeking out the detective was him and Amy's idea. Mr. Holmes was called on by the police for cases regularly and his brother held an important place with the government.

Amy and I got out of the cab slowly while she recounted her fare, not used to the currency outside the US. She stopped me from going straight for the door on Baker Street. Her full auburn hair shuffled around in the wind with her soft brown eyes fixed caringly on me. One of her hands landed firmly on each of my shoulders waking me up a little bit.

"Hey, if anyone can help at this point, it's this man. Everyone here knows about him. Like I said, he's supposed to be some kind of genius but I've also heard he can be incredibly rude." She said. "Even...strange, just different."

"Ok, you told me this a million times on the plane and another couple times on the ride here. Let's do it. I'm ready. How bad can he be? Besides, I'm not doing it for myself. It's for my sister. She would not kill herself. I'm one hundred percent sure that she was murdered. I need to know what happened. I need to know who's responsible." I made a couple quick hops to warm myself and gave a gesture towards the door.

"I've got my patient pants on", I smirked. Humor has always been my go-to coping mechanism.

"Those are leggings", she shot back.

"Don't start with me" I warned jokingly, "leggings are pants."

A wooden staircase met with us in the foyer and I gave Amy a scared look. Every third step creaked under our boots on the way up the long corridor. The room was dimly lit with patterned wallpaper and old furniture. Every table and counter was covered with junk, papers, jars, and bottles except for the desk in the middle of the room where a man with neatly styled gray hair sat typing on a laptop. He heard us arriving up the stairs to the flat and got up welcoming us with a small wave and big smile. I returned his smile and extended my hand.

\--

"Thank you so much for hearing my case, Mr.Holmes." I offered with sincere gratuity. He went to respond but I continued. "My name is Jane Francis and this is my friend, Mrs. Walter. She's the one who got me in touch with you through friends. I've read a lot..." He raised two of his fingers in a 'hold on a moment' gesture and looked over to the further wall. My gaze followed him and stopped at what was a moment ago an unnoticeable shadow but I then realized was a man.

"You're not the first case brought to me where a family member thought the suicide was a murder. What makes this different? Is it?" The tall man stepped forward and into a chair in front of an unused fireplace. He had alabaster skin, high cheekbones, piercing pale blue eyes and thick tousle of wavy dark hair. I had a hard time holding his gaze because of the intensity of his eyes and it seemed that he was studying me. He sat alert with his slender hands steepled in thought, the tips of his pointer fingers pressed into the pout of his lips as he looked me over from hair to shoes. I was so distracted by his strange behavior, I didn't notice that the other man I had mistaken for Holmes had left the room and came back with tea. He set a tray on the table between us and poured us all a cup.

"Jane, this is Mr.Holmes, my name is John Watson. I'm a clinical physician and also a consultant. We work together."

"Aww that's sweet that you work together too. I could never work with my husband, we'd always be butting heads." Amy was babbling nervously but I was glad for the noise in the awkwardness. "Oh, no, we're not 'together'," Dr. Watson said shaking his head, "roommates, just roommates, nothing else," he assured us. Amy bit her lip and looked down into her tea nodding. Well, so much for making things less awkward.

"My apologies," I offered to them both.

"Go on", Sherlock whined.

"I'm sorry?" I asked. Mr.Holmes was rotating his hand as though to say, get on with it. I felt flustered and embarrassed. "Oh, yes, of course."

"My sister was a general manager for a high end restaurant in downtown Pittsburgh and once in a while got a trip from work to go to different cities and sample foods and drinks common in those areas. She was strong, stable, and took great care of herself. I talked to her, fairly often. I saw, you know, in the morgue, her face to let them know it was her but they wouldn't allow me to go back in and look at the body. They said the cuts were deep, wide and clean, made by a knife. They found one on the scene and just assumed it was hers. I knew her. I know she wasn't suicidal."

"Did she travel alone?" "Yes"

"Any children? Husband?" "No"

"Investments, inheritance?" "No"

"You came from the east, not straight from the morgue. The dusting on your boots is from earthenware clay. You wanted to see how much money arrangements would cost including the urn before you got here to make sure you'd have money to pay me. The sister was here to tour and sample from a distillery judging from the proximity of the hotel and what the area is known for in the culinary media. You, Miss Francis, didn't know that by the look on your face and the general description you originally gave me. I deduce you were not as close to her as you claim. You're more taken with finding out what happened to her than you are that she has died. And don't give me the you just have a feeling. Intuition is shit and tons of unexpected suicides happen every year. I'm bored with this but please finish your tea before calling your cab if you don't want to wait in the rain." Sherlock quickly rambled his rejection in one cold reply.

\--

"Wait, isn't this what you do?" I said. "I plan to pay you! No, we weren't close but she was the only family I had! We grew up in foster care and were lucky enough to be kept together. Our personalities and lifestyles were just so different. We texted each other often though, about everyday stuff. We both tried to keep from becoming estranged I suppose. Please, Mr. Holmes."

"No, I won't waste my time and others. You couldn't pay me enough to drudge through a mediocre case that will lead nowhere." Sherlock quipped. He stood up and leaned against wall looking out the window. The rain made the light from the streetlamp dance on his chiseled face.

"Is the being a dick thing the british? The famous detective thing or is that special just to you?" To that his stoic face broke into a smirk.

"Are all Americans so dreadfully ordinary or is that special to you, Miss Francis."

"You can call me Jane, you outdated Dracula," I barked back. Taking a deep breath I lowered my head into my hands. "I am on edge, Mr. Holmes. Please understand…" but he cut me off. "you can call me Sherlock."

John and Amy looked at each other and at each of us waiting to see where this clashing would lead too next. John put a hand on my shoulder, "it's alright, Miss Francis, we all understand that you're going through a lot," he said. But Sherlock continued seemingly unmoved.

"Everybody has secrets," he offered with his low baritone voice. "Sorry about your sister Miss Francis, have a safe trip home."

John looked at me sympathetically. He could see I was choking up but I swallowed my tears and stood up marching over to Mr.Holmes. Amy and John also stood as if preparing for whatever lashing out may occur. I stopped a few inches in front of him and forced myself to look up directly into those steel eyes.

Sherlock towered over me but I wasn't going to let him think I was intimidated, although I was, very. The fact that he was dressed in a pressed buttoned down shirt, pinstripe pants and shiney shoes did make me feel a little extra frumpy. Do people in London just sit around in their flats ready for a job interview? I looked over at John with his perfectly combed hair and sweater vest, an honest to god sweater vest. Which century have I landed in?

"Just look at her body." I said sternly. He looked down at me surprised and my heart started to beat faster. "I know you can do this for me. Just look at her body, that's it." He stared into my eyes, just stuck there for what seemed like an eternity, his brows furrowed as if trying to figure me out and a tiny smile snuck onto his lips.

With Sherlock's eyes still looking curiously at me, he grabbed his coat and scarf, "John!", he exclaimed on his way out of the room. Amy and I looked at eachother confused. Before shuffling quickly out of the room behind Sherlock, John turned to us, "that means yes, I'll ring you in a little while and let you know if we find anything." I looked back at Amy and we hugged.

"Oh, hello dears, don't mind me at all. I heard the boys leave and came to make sure everything is turned off." An older woman with a pink cardigan and huge smile came casually into the room and past us into the kitchen. I had enough new for one day so I grabbed Amy's arm and headed out of the flat to get a cab to our hotel.


	2. 2

John had a cab waiting for us. I could barely keep my eyes open on the ride. Amy and I both crashed as soon as we got back into our hotel room. After a few hours had passed I was woken by the smell of coffee. Amy had got up first and was making us the maximum amount on the tiny coffee maker they give you. I grabbed my phone from the nightstand. No calls.

"I didn't get any calls yet either, don't worry," Amy tried assuring me, "It hasn't been too long." She handed me over a steaming styrofoam cup of what I'm sure would be piss coffee and continued. "He was kind of cute."

"What?! No. I mean, maybe. He was… I don't know," I could feel my face getting flushed thinking about his blue eyes and that curious look he held on me. "No, oh my god. He's awful, just rude. I guess his eyes are pretty but so what? I barely noticed him at all. This is business. Well, it's okay to look of course. You can look." When I could stop rambling, I looked back at my friend and she started to laugh hysterically.

"Whoa," Amy said, holding her hands up in surrender, "I was talking about John but, uh, that was interesting." She gave me a sly look raising one eyebrow. "Wonder if he's single."

"I find it likely and I could care less," I said. "I'm here for one reason. Besides, I could hardly stand him for the first four minutes into us meeting and it seemed the feeling was mutual."

I made my bed up and grabbed a change of clothes for the shower. The water pressure was weak but felt good running over my face as I tried pushing away the thoughts of the awkward, mysterious Sherlock Holmes.I was drying off when I heard Amy's phone, wrapped the towel around me and hurried out of the bathroom to listen in.

"Ok, wait what? Right now?" Amy was saying into the phone when the door busted open. Sherlock entered dramatically with a determined look on his face, John following close pulling back on his arm and yelling "Sorry, ladies!" I was wrapped in a towel with my hair dripping down my back and at the sight of them hurried back into the bathroom. Amy just stood shocked with her phone still in her hand.

"Who are you, really?!", Holmes shouted at the door. "What are you trying to do?!" Amy got in between the door and him. John pushed him back further still. "Who are you working for with?! Moriarty?!" I got my clothes on and pounced out of the door, narrowed in on Sherlock and smacked him in the face.

"How dare you come into this room! I'm not going to even ask how! I have no idea what you're going on about! What the hell happened at the morgue?!" I screamed. We got a knock on the wall from a neighboring room. John motioned for everyone to hush. "No, John, I'm not going to be quiet when a crazy Severus Snape wannabe just came into my hotel room uninvited while I stood NAKED!"

Sherlock looked embarrassed but continued in a calmer tone, "what kind of game are you playing with me? According to the records, neither you nor your 'sister' exist. I have access to any record, criminal, work, dental and everything in between. There is no Jane or Chelsea Francis of Pittsburgh and never was."

"What are you talking about?" I laughed and reached for my purse. It was a simple black crossbody that I had tossed absently onto the hotel desk before falling asleep. I felt my stomach start to turn when I couldn't find my wallet or passport. I looked back at them confused, "it's gone… somebody… I don't understand… my wallet and passport are gone." The tone of the room changed. Nobody knew what to say until Sherlock walked to me, his eyes softer and lifted my chin up so he could study my expression, "I believe you," he said.

"Really," I said to him, "why? Why would you believe me now?" I could feel tears starting form.

"You're no mastermind. Look at your luggage, it's new, never been used, your clothes, even your bag… obviously a tourist. You've never been outside of your own city. How you leave your valuables, how you pack, even your hair color, all predictable. Typical. You didn't even deadbolt the room door… "

"I get it. Very cute," I interrupted, raising my hand to stop him. He didn't seem to understand. He moved around the room looking under the beds, the desk, the chair and behind everything including the ugly floral framed pictures on the walls.

"And… " John added, "Damnit, Sherlock, you owe these women an apology!"

"Yes, well, sorry, for the naked, the towel," he mumbled and blushed, "do you have anybody who could send you a birth certificate or social security card or anything at all?" He was looking more human, even sympathetic towards me. There was a slight red mark on his pale cheek where I had hit him almost matching the pink of his lips.

"No, " the panic was setting in. "It was just me and my sister and it was hard enough keeping that relationship. I do writing freelance so I don't really have coworkers. Other than Amy, I guess I don't have anyone. Oh my god. I don't know what I'm going to do." I sat on the twin bed rubbing my temples trying to conjure up some plan and realized I was distracted from my purpose of being there in the first place.

"Sherlock, John, what DID happen at the morgue? Was there anything strange about her body?" I asked.

"Oh, yes, very much, " Sherlock answered, his eyebrows raised, matter-of-factly, "It was gone."

\--

Sherlock stormed through the backstreets of town letting the drizzle make his wavy hair damp and curl up on the ends. His collar flipped and scarf flowing freely on the front of his trench coat. He tried to think sitting quietly in his flat but felt increasingly restless going forward on this case. This was what he lived for! The more complicated and extreme the better. So what made this one different...the girl… no, never a problem for him. Jane, the feisty, the sarcastic, the not so ordinary at all.

He thought about when she smacked him and smiled. He knew he deserved it. Jane's big brown eyes had tore through him and her pouty little mouth trembled.

No, he told himself, I'm thinking about her because she's a part of the case, the game. That was his life, one game, one mystery after another. Relationships and feelings are inconvenient. They're what he would sometimes refer to as a human error. So why hasn't he figured something out yet?

At this point he knew John had met with Jane and Amy at a pub down the street and he intended on meeting them shortly. John was the only thing close to a relationship he had. He trusted the man and didn't find him obnoxious like he found most others. Jane's friend Amy would be leaving for home and Jane was going to be stuck here without her best friend, without HER John.

Think! Her sister's body was found. Police said suicide. Jane says murder. Body was taken from morgue after Jane gives positive identification. Jane's identification is stolen. Her and her sister's identification is wiped out of records. Who could do that? Moriarty? Yes. That madman would love to see him this frustrated and confused. Other criminals? Of course. Why them? He had several possibilities swimming around in his head but didn't like any.

His brain was swarmed with words and calculations. As quickly as he'd dismiss one idea, another one would pop up. He'd move his hand away to one side or the next as if physically sorting through the information as he walked. He was also trying to ignore the little sick feeling he had in his stomach at the thought of seeing her again soon with nothing new to tell her. Was that what he was feeling?

"Damnit, Sherlock," he whispered aloud to himself in the dark alley. She's going to need a place to stay.

\--

My second beer was kicking in giving me a warm fuzzy head feeling and I embraced it. I needed a break from thinking. John and Amy were having conversation across the tall pub table while I zoned out on my bar stool trying to feel the full depth of the song 96 Tears booming from the jukebox. The numbness was comforting. Part of me was hearing them talk about me as if I wasn't there.

"John, this is really so nice of you. I'll wire more money as soon as I get home for you to give to her hopefully everything will be settled sooner and she won't need it. You discussed this all with your flatmate and he has no problem with Jane staying there?," Amy inquired looking surprised at John, "even after she hit him?"

"It wasn't the first time he's been hit and I assure you, it will not be the last." he replied. He laughed and added, "I've hit Sherlock more than once myself. He's arrogant, overconfident, apathetic but unfortunately as smart as he thinks he is. He's not an easy man to get along with that's for sure but I have complete confidence that he will figure out whatever the hell is going on. He'll be along shortly, he had to umm...think. Luckily, I was able to contact his brother who works with the government and he's going to be putting resources into finding Jane's identity. As far as her sister, well, let's take care of one thing at a time. Our landlady knows that she will be staying with us and already left clean linens in the flat."

I tapped my fingers absently on the polished wood table waiting for my next drink. The car lights flashed yellow white red flying past the windows as I watched out past John while he talked. Still raining. As I turned to shift my body and look over at Amy I lost my balance and started to fall backwards. I could feel the wind getting sucked out of my stomach but two solid arms wrapped around my waist from behind and pulled me back onto the chair. I looked up and back, my head still on his chest. "Is your chair broken?" Sherlock said, his deep, silky voice right next to my ear making my face flush.

"Impeccable timing as usual," John laughed and raised a glass to his friend. Sherlock sat across from me at the table. His hair darker from being wet and pushed back from his face. I could still feel him against me like an imprint. There was an unexpected strength and warmth in his arms that contrasted greatly with his personality. Soul kitchen by The Doors came on just as the waitress approached the table. John ordered another round. At the same time I noticed that Sherlock had yet to make eye contact with me, or was I being paranoid?

Amy's phone buzzed and I knew it time to say goodbye to her. We all stood. She gave John a hug and peck on the cheek then approached Sherlock to do the same only she added with a big smile, "take care of her." To that he he looked back at her seriously and answered, "You have my word."

I walked her out holding tightly to her arm while she gave me all the comforting words she could muster.

"Give it a day. I'm sure you'll be home in no time. Everything is going to be okay. Hey, this is more excitement than you've ever had," she said. To that I rolled my eyes.

Not that she wasn't right. She was. I lived a fairly secluded life, writing for work, reading and watching TV at home alone most nights not even a cat for cuddling, a couple short lived relationships that ended years ago. I lived a boring life but a safe one. Until Sherlock saved me from falling off my chair I thought I'd simply never want or care if I was ever touched by a man again but here I was with butterflies in my stomach like a schoolgirl.

I left her go and stood in the rain watching the cab until it was completely out of site.

Sherlock and John were deep in conversation when I sat back down at the table. I grabbed my glass and started on my third beer which is three more than I was used to. It didn't take long to realize they were talking about the hotel room me and Amy had stayed in the night before.

"...the dust around the the back of the chair. Obviously a man too by the wide print but who and why.. " Sherlock had been going on to John before I interrupted.

"Wait, there was someone in the hotel room? That is so creepy!" I felt chills down my back. "But it seems like such a chore to steal someone's wallet and passport. There are tons of people out and around with their purses and bags out."

"That's exactly right, Jane, " Sherlock nodded, "who called you to identify your sister's body and who did you talk to at the morgue?"

"Officer ummm.. Let me think, " I felt so dumb not remembering the name.

"Do you remember what he looked like?, " John asked.

"Average, maybe a little on the smaller side, dark hair and dark eyes." I tried to explain.

"John, call Lestrade. Tell him to have a car watch the building tonight, " Sherlock ordered. "Jane, I'm afraid this is all tied together somehow. You could be in great danger. "


	3. 3

Both men offered for me to use their bedrooms but I insisted on using the couch. Considering I was a stranger and they were opening their home to me, I didn't want to be any more of a burden. The old worn in leather was smooth, cool and comfortable and Miss Hudson, their landlady and friend had kindly left an oversized quilt to use as a blanket.

I had only been asleep a few hours when I began to stir. The antique clock on the mantle read 3:30 and my mouth was bone dry from drinking the night before. I remembered John saying something about the fridge and bottled water so I forced myself up to navigate. My eyes adjusted using the streetlights through the window and I nearly gasped when I saw a man in the living room chair holding a pistol in his his lap but I quickly realized it was Sherlock. Still in his clothes, his head leaned back, he had fallen asleep with a gun in his lap.

I tried to creep quietly towards the bathroom to pee and then into the kitchen towards the refrigerator. The table was covered in flasks, jars, petri dishes and everything else I remembered from the science lab in high school. My eyes had to readjust to the bright light of the fridge. There wasn't much in there which I thought was typical of two busy men but wait, I thought, what the hell is in that jar?

"OW, eww, oh god, ok, ok," I exclaimed in a loud hush and someone grabbed my arm making me yell out louder, "AHH, OH my god, Sherlock. Is that a thumb?!"

"Yes," he replied and handed me a water, "an experiment on the effects of temperature on fingerprints."

"Brilliant," I said, honestly impressed. He smiled sweetly at that, a smile I hadn't seen before. We walked back over to the living room and stopped in front of the tall window that looked out to the city street. I noticed a music stand in the corner and a violin. Also a skull next to the clock on the mantle.

"Whose is it? The ummm… violin," I asked.

"Mine," he answered, "and the skull was a friend."

"Do you need your klonopin?" he asked. "John's a doctor, shouldn't be a problem."

"How did you know?" I asked him curious but not surprised.

"The skin around your right thumb has been picked at continuously over a long period of time, you touch the tips of your hair nervously. Given your history of foster care, the probability of having a anxiety disorder is 17 times higher. You're obviously well enough adjusted, you work, communicate well and take good care of yourself so you have seen a doctor to have been put on a medication. However, you do still live alone, no family, partner or pet. You are afraid. Abandonment issues, " As he went on I became embarrassed and looked away briefly. He stopped and looked at me confused by my reaction. "Did I say something wrong? I've offended you and that was not my intention."

"No, " I said, looking back at him to assure him that it was fine, "everything you said is true. I am afraid and I guess a bit broken."

"Everybody is, Jane."

"Are you afraid, Sherlock?" I looked into his blue eyes searching for something more than science and probabilities, something more human behind this strange and fascinating man with the handsome face.

"No, never," he replied sharply looking intense. I rolled my eyes at him and his face lit up. He laughed.

"You are funny. My parents live close and I have a dickhead brother I see too often for my taste," he told me, then continued but changing the subject, "he should however be able to get your identification straightened out in a day or so. His resources are unlimited. Later we'll go down to the morgue. I want to have another look and see if you recognize anyone from when you went to identify your sister's body. The fact that the body is missing and great lengths were taken to erase your identity are obviously no coincidence."

"I don't know enough people to think of anyone who would want to hurt me, let alone erase me from existence," I told him.

"Although you made it easier not knowing people and living alone, what this person accomplished was no easy task. We are not dealing with just any common criminal," Sherlock looked out the window and pointed down to a black sedan parked outside the building. "I have the police watching the building, that's Inspector Lestrade in the car outside right now. They owe me enough favors for all the cases I've solved for them."

"Thank you, Sherlock," I said. He shrugged off the sentiment with a quick nod and half smile. I had the feeling that other people's emotions to him were the equivalent of getting something sticky on your hand. You're uncomfortable, it's unfamiliar and you can't wait to wash it the hell off. I lightly padded his arm and turned back to the couch.

"Maybe another couple of hours of sleep would be a good idea," I said. He stayed looking out the window as I got comfortable. I watched him walk back over to his armchair, take his gun out of from where he had it tucked in his belt and sit back down. We were in the dark again and I drifted off, feeling safe but a little excited at the same time.

\--

The heavenly smell of coffee woke me up. Miss Hudson was in the kitchen moving things off the table and John was reading a paper. I felt awkwardly like a teenager waking up on a friends couch after a sleepover with the same clothes I had on the night before when everyone else was fresh and ready for the day.

"Oh good morning," Miss Hudson approached me cheerily with her perma-smile. "I put your things in John's room." She was wearing a pretty pleated purple dress with a simple string of pearls.

"I'll be at work until much later, Jane, you can use it for privacy or just to get away from Sherlock," John added.

"Have some coffee,"she continued, "and my goodness some food, you must be starving. I put some things out on the table. You don't want to go into the refrigerator, dear. Oh you are adorable. When I heard the case, oh I'm sorry dear but for a suicide. Well, now seeing you I can see why Sherlock didn't just throw you out on your arse," she giggled. She was silly and talked too quickly for me to reply.

"Alright, that's enough rambling," Sherlock stepped into the kitchen dressed more casual than I had seen him before, in jeans, vans and a T-shirt that showed off a surprisingly defined chest on such a lean man. The way he spoke to the kind older woman threw me off at first but as I approached she turned towards him and gave a playful punch to his arm.

"Eh piss off, Sherlock," Miss Hudson said laughing.

"We will do just that. As soon as Jane has had adequate time to wake, we are going to head over to the mortuary. I need to poke around a little and I want to see if she recognizes anybody from the other day," he said addressing all of us.

"You are not," John said amused, "Sherlock, you are not allowed back there for a while. They made it perfectly clear…"

"I just used a couple burners and chemicals," he said as he was pouring his coffee.

"You literally broke in!" John exclaimed.

"Stop being a drama queen, John. Besides, I have it figured out. They won't even see me," he replied casually.

"You going to break in again?! You'll NEVER be allowed back!"

"Of course not, that would be stupid," Sherlock answered casually and then sat across from John at the table, "they'll think we're a couple coming to identify a body. My poor Uncle," he said making a fake sad face before taking John's paper to grab his own section to read.

"Oh Sherlock, don't get in trouble," Miss Hudson begged.

"I have it all under control and it's completely necessary for this case," he winked at her, "you will be around though, of course, if we need bail."

"Smartass," Miss Hudson said under her breath. As entertaining as this exchange was and hearing the plan for the day frightened me, I knew I had to get moving. I had a cup of coffee, forced down a piece of toast and excused myself.

The shower felt amazing like I could feel parts of the day before running off my body and leaving new skin. John's room was tidy and comfortable. I pulled a pair of leggings, a T-shirt, parted my hair into two braids and threw a sweater on. When I opened the door to step out Sherlock was waiting. He had put on a worn out navy hoodie and a black baseball hat.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Let's do this," I said, completely unsure of what I was getting into.

\--

On the ride to the morgue, Sherlock told me to keep my eyes open and try to find any familiarity in faces. He also said to avoid talking to anyone because we both needed to keep a low profile there. I was nervous. It was only a few days ago I was there to identify my sister's body and it was gone later the same day when Sherlock went back. So why would someone take it? What the hell was going on, I thought. I knew it would probably help tremendously if I could just remember the cop's name. At least then there would be somewhere to start.

"Stay close," he whispered and pulled me close to his side with his arm around the small of my back as we walked casually through the veranda, past the secretary and into the hallway. It was cold, fairly empty and bright under the long fluorescent lights. I saw a couple men and a woman in lab coats coming out one room and heading down the hall opposite away from us.

"That's our first stop," Sherlock whispered and pulled his hat down further, looking both ways down the hall. When we reached the door, he led me in and closed it behind it. I recognized the smell of formaldehyde immediately and my stomach turned. He must have noticed and gave my hand a little squeeze with an 'are you okay' look. I nodded and watched him ravaging through the lab picking up jars, bottles and containers reading labels and pocketing a couple things.

He moved to the farther side where bodies lay covered in sheets on metal tables and began examining them. The eyes, the hands, a quick peek at the genitals and the feet it seemed. He only lifted the sheets so far but he looked from top to bottom with his pocket magnifying glass as I continually looked at the door nervously.

My mind was starting to think too much about the fact that I was a room full of dead bodies. I turned my back to Sherlock and started distracting myself by reading labels of bottles on the lab counter. Not that I would understand what most of them were. One of the jars was bright orange and out of curiosity I reached up to turn and read the label. At the same time the door handle was turning.

\--

"Excuse me, what are you doing in here?"

I was so startled that I jumped and the jar of bright orange mystery liquid shattered loudly all over the floor. My voice was stuck in my throat and I froze. Before I could regain my composure, Sherlock was grabbing my arm and pulling me away from the table and mess.

"Bloody hell, Brenda," he yelled at me and shook his head disappointed, "this is why we can't have nice things!" He pulled me out of the room with him adding, "Sorry, wrong room!"

My heart was pounding in my chest as we made our way down the hall quickly to make space between us and them. When we rounded the corner, Sherlock let go of my arm and we stopped to catch our breath. When I finally took a minute to look at him I could've sworn there were tears in his eyes. He was had both of his hands on the wall, leaning his weight on it and looked over at me with a huge smile stuck on his face.

"Brenda?" I asked and we both started laughing. Sherlock had to wipe the tears from his eyes. A woman with tight curls and a beautiful brown complexion came around the corner and before she could could see me back, Sherlock turned completely in front of me and leaned in.

"I can't let that detective see me," he whispered. He looked down the other length of the hall and back at me, maybe thinking of trying to make a run for it. We were so close I could hear him swallow hard. Without hesitation I reached up around his neck, slid the hat off releasing his wavy brown hair, draped his hood up hiding his face from anyone but me and pulled his face down to mine . I claimed his lips with tiny kisses on the top and then the pouty bottom lip I'd been admiring since I first saw him. Sherlock leaned further into me, pressing me lightly against the wall. He brought his hands up to my cheeks holding my head delicately and kissed me back. At first, softly sucking on my lips then allowing our mouths to be together, exploring me deeper, kissing harder, making my body warm and knees weak. When he let go, we stood looking at each other. The woman detective had come and gone without recognizing him.

"Jane, I, " he started, "thank you." We were still looking at each other, both confused. My heart was beating so fast. He looked at me deeply with his crystal blue eyes. That kiss was amazing, I thought. It was also possibly a huge mistake. It was to hide his face so it had worked. It served it's purpose. That's all it was. Unfortunately. I wanted to hold onto it and play it over and over. I wanted to feel the safety of him so close.

"Holmes! What the hell are you doing in here?" A short man with round glasses and an angry red face came busting down the hall towards us. We stepped back from each other and out of our fog.

"Dr. Reed, I have a perfectly good reason…" he tried to say.

"I'm calling the police!" the man screamed.

"You really don't need to. I can explain. This is Brenda," Sherlock motioned to me and started to laugh again which angered the little doctor even more, "No, I'm sorry, let's talk. Please, this is a serious case. Let me call Lestrade, he can confirm. I have good reason to be here."

I leaned against the wall while Sherlock and the doctor talked about my last visit there and the strange and unfortunate circumstances. To save me from hearing them talk about my sister they stepped down the hall a ways. People would pass and I waited like a kid who got in trouble in class at school. A couple walked past holding onto each other sobbing. A woman in business attire went trotting down the hall briefcase in hand, her heels echoing obnoxiously. A security guard with dark hair and dark eyes...wait, I thought. I recognized him!

Sherlock was still talking to the doctor and I didn't want to be rude but I also didn't want to miss the opportunity to talk to this man. I was sure that was him. Well, almost completely sure.

"Wait, hold on. Excuse me. Officer," I called out to him, "hey!" He just kept walking. How could he not hear me in this hallway, I thought. He was about to round the bend of the hall so I followed him. I was walking fast so if he was going into a room I could see which one.

"Jane, wait," I heard Sherlock call from back down the hall. He had told me to stay close but this was too important. I was almost positive that guard or police officer was the one who was with me when I saw my sister's body. He would be the only one that saw the body with me before it went missing. When I got around the bend noone was there. Damnit.

No people, no doors closing, there wasn't anybody in the hall. The quiet was eerie and I took a step back to make my way back to Sherlock.

That's when I was grabbed from behind. One arm around my center and a hand over my mouth being dragged into a dark empty room. Not just a hand I soon realized. As it got harder to kick free and scream, I realized there was cloth over my mouth and nose, the drug soaked cloth was completely knocking me out. I was helpless.

\--


	4. 4

John and Lestrade ran down the hall of the mortuary towards the commotion. Sherlock's brother, Mycroft, was outside the door of the room where Sherlock had locked himself after fighting off two officers so he could be left alone to think. John could see him through the small rectangular window on the door. Sherlock was pacing around the room wildly in his boxers. John knocked on the door to get his attention and held a bag up to the window.

"How did you know to bring clothes?," Lestrade asked John. He explained Sherlock's plan to them. Sherlock reached out for the bag and slammed the door shut again. He threw on the slacks, buttoned collared shirt and leather shoes John had brought from his closet, straightened up, dusted his hands through his hair and marched back to the door.

"Are you done throwing a tantrum, brother?" Mycroft snarked.

"Why are you all standing here?! My client has been taken!" Sherlocked screamed. Just then the woman detective he was hiding from earlier turned down the hall.

"Oh, Mycroft and his freak brother, I should have known," she said bitingly.

"Not now, Detective Donovan, did you send the description of the girl to the airports," asked Lestrade, "Yes, of course." she answered.

"Detective, what a joke. You walked right past me, you know," Sherlock interjected giving her a look of disgust, "someone becomes invisible with a hood up? Is that all it takes? I do hope the others on this case are far more competent."

"That was you!? And the woman you were swapping spit with, that was your client," she exclaimed looking surprised. Not as surprised as the other three men standing there. John, Mycroft and Lestrade looked at his shocked and all began to talk at the same time, drowning eachother out. Sherlock put his hand up dismissing further commentary on his end, grabbed the last two items John had brought him from the bag, his trench coat and scarf and moved down the hall quickly. John followed close behind.

"Get out of there now! Do not stop to get anything. Get out the door and to your sisters. Go!" John was just getting off the phone with Miss Hudson on the way to their flat. She called frightened because she heard something upstairs in their place. The ride there seemed like an eternity. When the car pulled up the door was left open and they rushed up the stairs.

Both men froze, silently examining the room. Sherlock felt a twinge of dread in the pit of his stomach looking at the quilt now folded that Jane had used the night before. She must be so scared. Stop, don't do that. Stole the body,erased their identities, now they took her, he thought. They took her. He grabbed his gun from the table next to his chair and tucked it into his belt.

"Sherlock! Here!" John was pointing to the sheet music on the stand by the window. Written in a pale rose lipstick it said:

Give up yet? Take a walk.

-J Moriarty

\--

"You were right," John said.

"Of course I was," Sherlock snapped.

"The cop she met with was Moriarty. Jim has her. But why? Just to mess with you? Maybe he thinks you two are together because she stayed here. He just wants to hurt you, "John thought out loud, questioning him at the same time.

"It must be Jane's lipstick but I don't remember her wearing any," John speculated curiously.

"She didn't, just chapstick. She left it in her purse just in case but probably forgot she even had it I imagine. Always ready for what usually ended up not happening."

"A walk? He wants to meet in the park," John said.

"Good, John," Sherlock replied quickly still staring at the note solemnly.

"You can pause on being a dick," John quipped. Then added, "We'll find her." And with that, John grabbed his gun also and called Inspector Lestrade.

I could feel the cool wind on my face as I started to slide out of my deep sleep. Everything was dark but I could hear crickets and cars in the distance. The smell of dirt and pine overpowered my nostrils. My eyes strained to find light. I tried to call out but my mouth was strapped shut, filled with the sticky taste of tape. I tried to move my arms to reach in front of me but they seemed to be tied with a thick fibrous rope behind my back. All I could do was pull myself up onto my knees.

My memory was flooding back. The man drug me and took me from the mortuary. It was the same man that was the officer when I identified my sister and the one I saw in the hallway. Panic was setting in.

"Well, aren't you ADORABLE," a voice came out of the darkness. As he got closer, my eyes began to adjust with the help of the moonlight. A short man with big wild eyes and a satisfied grin. "This is PERFECT." He spoke at me, knowing I couldn't answer. I looked around but it seemed to be just me and this crazy man out in the woods. No, not in the woods, I saw a bench. We were in a park.

"I know you're here! Come out, come out! You can't resist a game with me," He laughed and danced around talking out to the empty night air. I wanted to be strong so I could think clearly but my eyes started to fill with tears.

"Let her go, Moriarty, she has nothing to do with this," Sherlock stepped out of the shadows and into the moonlight casting a long shadow right along with the trees. His long coat with the collar up started to take shape out of the the darkness. My heart leaped in my chest.

"You are so precious, Sherlock," the man laughed and pulled out his gun to point at me. Terror ripped through my body and the tears started to flow. Just then I could feel a slight tugging on the ropes around my wrists. It was John. He had crawled out of the shadows behind me and was cutting at the ropes.

"I can see you, Dr.Watson! You can kneel right next to the girl with your hands up or I'll shoot you both in the face. Oh no, both of your girlfriends are knee deep in it now!" Moriarty laughed at himself. Then he quickly got serious in his face, his gun now on John but looking at Sherlock.

"You are so SIMPLE," he said, "You just can't figure this one out can you? Maybe it's because you are not as clever as you think you are, huh? The body missing, the identity gone. Oh whatever can it be?!"

"What exactly is it that you want?" Sherlock asked calmly, trying not to make him angry.

"Just to see your face. This was perfect. Better than I thought it would be. Going back to jail is so worth it to mess with you, friend. She is GOOD, isn't she?," he said, pointing the gun at my face, "Miss whatever she said her name was." Sherlock just watched him and waited, poker faced.

"You know why the case doesn't make any sense," he asked excitedly, "Did you even see a body? No? Only Jane did. Interesting. The famous detective,." he said mockingly. While Moriarty was going on in a rant I was looking around frantically for some way, any way out of this situation. I didn't understand what was happening but there had to be something I could do. I thought if only I could get the tape off I could try talking to him. I could see John's gun tucked into his belt but I had no idea how to shoot a gun even if I could get loose.

"I can see the wheels in your head spinning," Moriarty made a swirling motion with the gun, keeping it pointed in me and John's direction, "I HIRED HER, YOU IDIOT!"

I cried out as hard as I could, trying to scream NO through the tape. Trying desperately to tell Sherlock with my eyes that it wasn't true. Tears were streaming down my face at this point. I shook my head, please know me, I thought. Please know that I am real. I looked hard at his face. He looked at me and nodded, putting his face down and slowly taking a couple steps toward Moriarty. Sherlock looked defeated and I feared that this would be the end. Jim Moriarty smiled, "That's right, I set this whole thing up. She was working for ME."

\--

"And that's not even the best part!" Moriarty went on. While his eyes were on Sherlock I continued to work on chewing through the tape on my mouth. Quickly I pushed my legs through my arms, putting my still tied together wrists in front of me and grabbed John's gun out of his belt.

"Hey asshole!" I screamed, pointing the gun at Moriarty. He turned towards me and started to raise his gun back but the surprise was just enough distraction for Sherlock to reach Moriarty's gun while John jumped over and quickly bear hugged me to the ground.

The gun shot off twice hitting the ground in front of me and John and another time hitting a tree while the two men scuffled. Sherlock got in a good blow with his fist to Moriarty's stomach and grabbed the pistol, tossing it to where John could grab it. As soon as Moriarty's gun was out of his hand he took off running into the shadows of the trees. He was gone.

John helped me up and finished cutting off the rope. I could hear police sirens getting close. John was calling out to Sherlock to grab the guns and asked him if an ambulance was on the way but he stood frozen. He looked conflicted. I couldn't help but think what Moriarty said had gotten to him. My tears still hadn't stopped and my eyes burned.

"Is she ok?" Sherlock asked John.

"I don't know, why don't you ask her," John snarkily replied. Then he smiled at me sympathetically and started examining my face, "you need to get to the hospital. We'll be there soon. You should be looked at and rest. You're safe now."

Every piece of my body felt heavy, even my eyelids so I left my eyes shut and let myself stay sunk into the hospital bed. My mind was overwhelmed remembering all the trauma of the last few days so I let myself think about about Sherlock. His feathery hair, pale blue eyes, the way his strong arms felt around me but most of all that kiss in the hallway. Whatever these feelings were though, I had to shake them off. It's a little too late for that, I thought.

"You are so strange," My eyes popped open and Sherlock was standing next to the hospital bed. His head was tilted and lips slightly pursed. I laughed out of surprise and a little embarrassment, "You just surprise me, I guess."

"I'm strange? Ok, Gomez," I said. But he kept a serious expression.

"I've gotten you into trouble. You were at the wrong place at the wrong time and were used as a pawn in this never ending game with that madman," he said.

"You know he was lying?" I asked relieved.

"Of course," he answered, surprised, then he continued, "Seeing you like that, I didn't know what to do. The crying and all. I don't want you to be hurt, for whatever reason."

"Because you are a decent human being maybe?" I asked.

"No," he answered sharply. "That's definitely not it." A nurse came in before he could continue but he stopped in front of the door blocking her and very slowly pushing it shut.

"Mr. Holmes, I told you visiting hours... Mr. Holmes, you can sit OUTSIDE the door with the police, do not close this door on… " click. He had shut the door completely with her on the other side.

"She'll be back to take your vitals in a little while", Sherlock continued casually, "My brother has fixed your information error using a paper trail starting with your birth certificate and is getting you a passport. I think you should stay with me and John until Moriarty has been caught regardless, for your safety. Only this time, when I tell you to stay close, damnit Jane, stay close."

"What the hell were you thinking grabbing John's gun like that anyway?" He asked, "He could have killed you."

"I had to do something. What would it have mattered if he shot me, if I could've stopped him. I barely exist anyway. It would've been the least I could do. I'm expendable, Sherlock." I explained, "At least I would've done something that mattered."

Sherlock stood at a loss for words. He came back to the side of the bed and held tightly to the metal bars on the side looking down and shook his head slowly. He looked back up at me searching my eyes. It looked like he was deep in thought and I almost broke the silence when John came in.

"Hey badass, how are you feeling?" he asked, "You staying with us tonight?"

"No, John, I'm going to get a room. It's just some scratches. I'm fine," I answered. "Thank you so much for everything. I have my phone and I have Lestrade on speed dial." This rollercoaster of emotions needed to end before I let myself get hurt. I wanted to walk away from it all, go home, have a small funeral for my sister, get away from Sherlock and these confusing feelings that go along with him.


	5. 5

"You have it all figured out, don't you?" John asked Sherlock getting into a cab outside the hospital.

"Of course, it's obvious, I was almost completely sure from the first time we talked to her and her friend," he answered then asked John, "Why didn't she want to stay with us?"

"Oh my god, Sherlock, why didn't you just ASK her?" John asked. But he knew the answer. His friend was a genius on so many levels but when it came to people's feelings he was lost. "She likes you too, you idiot. Lord only knows why." He laughed and shook his head, "Are you sure you know what's going on with the sister?"

"Positive, I just texted Lestrade and Mycroft. Moriarty is not done yet but I know what's going on. As hard as it is right now I have to hang back from Jane for an hour or so. I need to let them follow her so that we can follow them," Sherlock continued, "I would rather be with her when everything happens."

"Why is that, then?" John asked, "So you can take credit for solving the case? So you can be there when Moriarty's caught yet again? Or is because you have feelings for her?"

"Shut up, John, before I force you out of this cab," Sherlock lowered his head into hands, and after a brief pause, "She's tolerable."

"Yes," John agreed.

"Oddly beautiful. Grounded. Fierce. Modest and lovely. I can't get her out of my head and I want to be near her," Sherlock finished his thought and looked away from John out the window. It was getting dark. The evening sky painted an orange gloss on the buildings as they rode past.

My eyes were tired from crying and my mind from thinking, worrying, fantasizing. I left the tv on but wasn't watching it. It had only been about an hour since I left the hospital and for the first time in my life being alone wasn't comfortable or safe. I layed on my back on the hotel bed, still made, in nothing but an oversized robe and stared up at the blank white ceiling hoping I'd get tired enough to fall asleep.

There was a knock at the door and I jumped up. I took a paranoid look around the room and saw my empty food tray on the table. Feeling relieved I picked it up figuring it was hotel staff coming to get it. Although I was fully aware that the police were watching the building, I had seen this career criminal, Moriarty, for myself and he terrified me. At the same time, having that gun pointed at me made me realize how short life was and question if I was really living until this last week.

"No, thank you, Jane, I already ate," I smiled and blushed as Sherlock took the half eaten tray of food from me and put it down on the table just outside the door. He was in his typical slacks and a deep purple button down shirt but untucked and his tousled brunette locks looked damp. Must have just taken a shower, I thought, which he would have to be naked for...stop it. Without a word I took his hand and led him into the room closing the door behind us.

"You didn't look out the peephole?!" he put his hands on my shoulders gently, his tall full body towering over me, "What am I going to do with you?" My unattainable sarcasm took over and I raised an eyebrow at him. He moved a strand of hair from my face and tucked it behind my ear gazing intently into my eyes. His serious eyes moving from my my hair to my lips and back to my eyes.

"Will you stay with me tonight?" I asked him, surprising myself. It came out quick and forced like a hiccup and I worried he may not have heard me and I'd have to say it again. I wasn't sure if I could.

"Of course," he replied without hesitation.

\--

Sherlock started examining the room and I gathered clothes to bring into the bathroom for a shower. When I finished with my shower I dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a tank top. I came out to find the detective still standing alert like a statue but he looked tired. He smiled at me as I moved over, grabbed his hands and he let me lead him to the bed.

"You look tired, please get some rest", I said, "I'm sure even you need a break once in a while."

"I'm as uncomfortable stopping as you are going," He said. I couldn't be offended because he was right. I've stayed out of trouble my whole life by not taking even the smallest risks. Sherlock slid off his shoes, took off his top leaving a crisp white undershirt then pulled it off, unbuckled his belt and stopped when he noticed me noticing him. My stomach was doing somersaults watching this man I was so attracted to undressing casually with just a full bed between us. "Well, I don't sleep fully clothed Miss Francis," he half smiled and got under the covers before slipping his pants off and letting them fall to the floor.

I could feel his eyes on me as I went across the room to switch off the light leaving only a soft glow from the moon through the window. As I walked towards the bed I thought my heart would beat right out of my chest. Nothing else mattered at that moment. I felt like it was just me and him and no one else existed. I slid into the bed next to him.

"Goodnight, Sherlock," I said and turned with my back to him trying to give him enough room. He let out an audible sigh and turned to face towards my back.

"Goodnight, Jane," he said. Then I felt his hand wrap slowly around my waist, his long strong arm pulling me close to him in spoon position. He whispered into my ear from behind, "You are not expendable, not even a little."

We fell asleep like that.

I woke up to a kiss on the forehead and felt the bed shift slightly. Sherlock, with his pants in his hand was walking across the room to turn on the light giving me a great opportunity to watch his shapely tight butt moving in his boxer briefs. His back was broader than I would have thought and his legs lean but muscular. I stayed in the bed watching him get dressed.

"You're awake," he said as he checked the windows and opened the door to look up and down the hall, "We should eat and head to the police station. Mycroft texted me. He has a temporary passport for you."

"Wow, that's great," I said but the thought of going back to my apartment alone was no longer exciting. I didn't want to think about being an ocean apart from Sherlock either. I moved quickly into the bathroom to save him from seeing me tear up closing the door behind me. I threw on some stretchy jeans and a T shirt then turned towards the mirror and screamed. On the bathroom mirror someone wrote:

Midnight in the park.

No cops.

JM

Sherlock stared at it and put his hands to my shoulders turning me around.

"We need to get you somewhere safe," he said, "now."

"I don't understand how he got through that tiny window," I said and walked over to the small frosted rectangular bathroom window. Moriarty was maybe on the shorter side but I couldn't see an average man's shoulders getting through that space. The metal hinges that let the window angle outward were pushed all the way out so I knew that was the way he came in.

"Moriarty didn't come through the window, Jane," Sherlock said, "Your sister did."

\--

The quick and confident way he said it was like a punch in the gut. I looked back at the small window, at the message left on the mirror and back at Sherlock. At first I thought it was some sort of inappropriate joke I didn't understand. No. I studied his face. He looked serious and worried.

"Why would you say that, Sherlock?" I said, feeling hurt.

"She's not dead. This was a set up to get you out of the country. She wants you dead but not until she gets a chance to tell you why," he said and motioned for my hand to lead us out of the bathroom. I denied him and folded my arms around myself following him into the open space of the room.

"How are you so sure?" I asked.

"When you're identification had been stolen, it all made sense. If she wanted you gone, it would be a lot easier to bring you out of the country first. Make it so you never existed, then carry it out," he replied.

"She's not. No. Wait. What about Moriarty?!" I exclaimed, now pacing the room. There was a knock at the door and Sherlock opened it to let the officers in.

"Obviously, she hired him. It was just luck for him that you came to me for help because he got to mess with me at the same time." he answered.

"Obviously?" I stepped up to him and looked him in the eyes, "Obviously? Sherlock...how long have you known?"

An overwhelming sadness and anger was building up in the pit of my stomach. I searched Sherlock's face but he was frozen, his mouth slightly open but not finding any words. Turning away my gaze landed on the bed and I sat in an armchair burying my face in my hands. The cops were bustling in and out of the room, on their radios, writing reports on clipboards and taking pictures in the bathroom. Events of the last few days flashed through my mind ending with last night. The closeness, the intimacy, every little touch was electric and being together felt so natural and right.

"You bastard!" I yelled at him. Everybody froze.

"You knew this whole time. All this time we've spent together and you knew. Get out!" I screamed and pointed towards the door starting to cry. His piercing blue eyes looked to be tearing up.

"Jane, please. If I would've told you and had been wrong…" He reached out towards me and I swatted his hand away.

"Don't touch me!" The police were quietly exiting the room. I couldn't look at him anymore. Staring at the floor letting the tears run down my cheeks I pointed to the door again, "I was just a part of the game to you."

"NO…" Sherlock choked out. His lip slightly trembled and eyes wide never looking away from me.

"Go or I will call them back in here to make you. I never want to see you again," I weeped.

Sherlock stood shocked for another brief moment and turned slowly making his way out of the room. I followed to make sure he did and to shut the door behind him. He stopped and leaned against the wall outside the room opposite from my door, slid down to a sitting position and looked up at me, his eyes red.

"Jane, everything between us is real. If you want me any farther than right outside this door, you will need to call the police back and possibly the Queen's army because I am not going to leave you until I know you are safe." I slammed the door shut but I didn't call the police back.

I called Amy and tried telling her everything that has been going on although I was breaking up with sobbing. Inspector Lestrade called me and I gave him an official report of what I saw. He offered an escort to a different hotel but I declined. He asked me to stay in the room and call if I needed anything until further notice. My mind was fixed on the idea of Sherlock sitting outside my door. How could he keep that information from me?! For Christ's sake, we slept together in each other's arms last night!

Throughout the day I ordered food and would see him still sitting in the hall. There was a bag with him now, most likely things left for him by John. He would look up at me and as much as I tried to resist I'd briefly look at his handsome and now sad face. At one point I heard John outside talking to him and at one time or another I would hear him speaking with one of the officers but nobody knocked. They were being respectful of my privacy which was smart because I was in no mood to deal with anybody.

As the evening set in I was growing weary and dozed off on the bed. The nap was cut short as I woke to the sharp loud sound of the violin. I recognized the melody and it was beautiful. Where did I know it from? It was smooth and soothing and wow, so loud to be coming from a hotel hallway. Out of the peephole I saw Sherlock playing, his eyes closed and long sturdy fingers moving effortlessly on the instrument. There were also a couple shouts from angry guests. I opened the door and he stopped and looked into my eyes, waiting.

"I love that, what you were playing. What is it?" I asked.

"I thought so, it's Mozart," he answered.

"How did you know I would like it?" I asked smiling and a little confused.

"Your age and demographic. The probability of you having viewed the movie Amadeus in grade school from the lacking cultural connection in the public school system and the year of the movie was made. It's quite common that it's the most lasting impression of concerto being the first played and most popular," he finished his deduction, ignoring the other hotel guests yelling "shut up" and "I'll call the police" from other doors in the hall. My mouth just hung open at his cold placid response.

"You are just… obnoxious," I said, shaking my head and starting to close the door.

"A little adorable, though?!" He yelled through the door. I smiled because it was true. His poor excuse for a romantic gesture was destroyed by his keen sense of observation. Feeling a little lifted and letting myself feel safe with Sherlock outside my door I fell back asleep, my alarm set for 1130pm.

The alarm on my phone was set to vibrate so Sherlock wouldn't hear it. I felt the rumble in my pocket and hopped out of the bed towards the door. Pulling my hair back into a ponytail, I peaked out the peephole and saw Sherlock wide awake, his arms crossed, watching the hallway like a guard dog. I felt a twinge of guilt but I rushed into the bathroom and slid through the window barely fitting but I made it. Now I was going to head back to the park to end this.


	6. 6

The few street lamps along the path lit my way alone through the park. The moon was low in the sky but gave just enough light for me to find the clearing I was brought to the other night by Moriarty. Now I assumed my sister had been there that night too but hung back quietly. She must have been there watching, seeing me helpless and having a gun pointed at my head. I was getting angry and the anger was more powerful than any fear I may have had heading into that night.

"Jane," A familiar voice came out from the shadows. My sister stepped out from the trees. Her usually pretty face hardened with painful emotion.

"Chelsea," I replied. She stepped in to the light and I could see that she was holding a gun at me. Her hand was trembling.

"He was supposed to do this for me but of course you made friends in the whole one day you were here and they saved you," She spat. Annoyed by her sarcastic biting at me I barked back.

"It was the second day, actually," I said, "Why do you want to kill me, Chelsea?" She started to cry and waved the gun at me while she spoke, her face red.

"Your face, your voice. I want you gone. Even just a text from you is painful. You remind me of our parents and those assholes abandoned us. I'll never feel better as long as I have those memories," She cried at me.

"You can heal. You can. If you need to not know me, that's okay. I'll leave you alone. I want you to be okay," I tried to speak to her calmly with my hands in the air where she could see them. Chelsea shook her head and came a few steps closer. I could hear her cock the gun.

"That's not good enough," She barked, "I'm sorry. I really am… " I heard a twig snap and Chelsea's eyes looking briefly to her left giving Inspector Lestrade just barely enough time to tackle her and take her gun. The rest of the cops that were hiding came out with their guns on her from every direction.

"DON'T HURT HER!" I screamed coming over to them. Kneeling on the ground next to my sister while Lestrade was handcuffing her, I begged, "Please, don't hurt her. She's been through a lot. She needs help. My sister is sick and needs help." I reached over and moved her hair out her face. Chelsea looked dazed and stared back at me blankly.

Lestrade gently helped her up and led her to the nearest cop car. I walked with them, next to my sister. The red and blue lights reflected off the tall dark trees that would have otherwise been asleep to the world. This was it, the actual end. They can sleep tomorrow, I thought.

"Everything is going to be okay now," I said to my sister while she was being put in the back of the police car, "Don't be scared. I love you." She kept the same absent look on me then turned away without a word and I was okay with that. I knew she was safe. Lestrade closed the car door.

"Thank you," I said. He smiled and we shook hands. Then he turned and motioned behind me.

"Thank that miserable dragon of a man. Wouldn't of knew you were here if it weren't for him," he winked and got into the car, driving my sister away with him. I turned and Sherlock was watching me. He always seemed to be watching me, noticing me, as though I was somebody worth seeing. I started to cry but this time instead of being afraid of it, he came to me, wrapped his long arms around me and held my head to his chest.

\--

The morning light shone through the window waking me up in an unfamiliar bed. The room was simple, just the queen bed with a dark walnut frame and matching dresser. My bags were on the floor next to the bed along with my pants. I blushed and searched my memory. I had been so exhausted last night and feel asleep on Sherlock and John's couch.

Sherlock came into the room. He looked stunning in his neatly tailored crisp clothes, his wavy hair and piercing baby blue eyes. The sun was lighting up his face as he studied me.

"I thought you could use a good night's sleep so I brought you in here," he claimed matter of factly.

"Thank you, I do feel rested. Your bed is very comfortable," As I was saying it I felt my face getting bright red which he noticed and looked away smirking.

"Well, are you going to come out for coffee?" He asked, "My brother will be here shortly with your passport but you can sleep as long as you'd like." He relaxed a little and came to sit at the edge of the bed. My body grew warm the closer he was to me. I wanted to pull him under the sheets with me and stay there where we could live together as under the sheet people forever. You need to stop, I scolded myself, you and him would never work.

"I'm in my panties, Sherlock," I said, "I think I'll change first."

"That, my dear, I'm intently aware of," He raised an eyebrow at me and moved his hand over the sheets the top of my thigh. My mouth went dry. He moved closer, us both sitting on the bed facing each other. His thumb brushed my cheek and he tilted my head back leaning in to kiss me long and passionately. I reached up and ran my fingers through his hair. He stopped to look at me then reached around my back slowly easing me back onto the bed leaving soft kisses on my earlobes, chin and neck.

Knock, knock.

"What in the hell could anybody possibly want right now?!" Sherlock yelled at the door. I laughed but felt sad at the same time. Maybe it was better we didn't give in to these feelings. Although defying gravity seemed like an easier task at this point.

"Go ahead, Sherlock, I'll be right out," I said.

The frustration in his eyes must have matched mine. I started to get up and he gave me a quick kiss on the mouth as he got off the bed. He kept his eyes on me as he got to the door, took a deep breath and went out shouting, "What?!"

When I got to the kitchen where Sherlock, John and Mycroft were sitting, I got myself a cup of coffee and we all greeted each other warmly. I looked at John with his expressive eyes. He had been so kind to me since I had been there. I would always consider him a friend. There was Mycroft, the seemingly stiff dickhead big brother of Sherlock who had gone out of his way to find my identification. Then there was Sherlock, my friend, the object of my attraction. He gave me feelings I didn't know I was capable of. He made me feel alive, important, and I liked myself when I was with him.

"Miss Francis, I do have those papers for you but they're in my car, I'll run out," Mycroft said.

"Oh, I'll just walk out with you," I offered. I hadn't had any chances to see Baker Street on a sunny day like that. When we got outside it was a different London. There were bright colors and shops, families, people walking their dogs.

"My brother is dangerous to be around, Miss Francis. You realize that, don't you?" Mycroft said, sobering me into the moment, "Sherlock has enemies and spends all his time in these cases. He's a junkie and this crime solving is his fix." I simply nodded my head not sure how else to respond.

"I've never seen him like this," he continued, "This morning we went to get a paper. Sherlock stopped to pet a dog and I'm pretty sure I saw him smile at a baby." Mycroft grimaced and I giggled. I still didn't know how to respond. Certainly I couldn't have that much of an effect on someone.

Mycroft's car was parked outside right outside the building. He reached into his glove compartment and pulled out an envelope with my name on it. I waited looking up and down the busy street now uncomfortable about our one sided conversation.

"This is the passport and a plane ticket. There's a flight this evening that would get you home with minimal layovers," He handed me the papers and smiled at me, tilting his head knowingly, "If you decide to use it."

"I can't thank you enough for this," I said and extended my hand which he took and covered with his other hand. "If you decide to use it", what does he mean by that? I thought.

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Jane." He said.

As Mycroft drove away I peeked into the envelope. I thought it seemed quite thick but I wasn't sure. There I saw the plane ticket, a paperclip holding what looked like papers saying I am indeed me with a copy of my birth certificate and a copy of my driver's license but there was something else. I pulled it all the way out. It was an application for a temporary green card.

Stay here?! I hadn't considered staying in London a possibility. The thought of it was thrilling and terrifying at the same time. And why would I? To be close to Sherlock? I'd just be in his way, I thought and shoved the papers back into the envelope. My flight back home was this evening and I had to get my things together. I sucked up my tears, straightened up and marched myself back inside. It was over. Now Mr. Holmes can get back to his life and I'll go back to mine. What life? I thought.

\--

Sherlock asked me to take a walk with him which turned into a walk and a couple buses. When I asked where we were going he said I'll see when we get there. Our hands were locked and I didn't mind. I was trying to take mental pictures and just enjoy every last moment we had. Not once did he mention me leaving. I figured either he didn't want to think about it either or it didn't matter as much to him as it did to me.

"Just a couple more blocks," he said and picked up his pace as it started to drizzle. We came to a big historical building that looked like it was being remodeled. It was old on the outside but bright and modern looking as we entered the lobby. We got into the elevator and he put his hands to my cheeks, gazing sweetly into my eyes.

"I don't want you to go," he said and covered my mouth with his. His lips were so soft and he pushed his tongue into my mouth with such urgency that I got goosebumps all the way down my body. I didn't have time to answer or think but I didn't want to go. I wanted this to be my new normal. He ended the kiss with a couple light pecks on the forehead which I loved.

We came out onto the 6th floor and a little ways down a hallway. They were apartments. Sherlock pulled out a key and opened the door 103. The room was dark except for a couple soft bulb lamps. There was just a couch, a shelf and a coffee table which had one of the lambs on it. I noticed a small kitchen area with a refrigerator and stove. Holding my hand, he led me to the bedroom which had only a queen bed and an end table holding the other lamp.

"It's not too much but I thought you would prefer small and simple anyway," Sherlock said studying me, "Miss Hudson owns a small mess of apartments from a divorce agreement. She also owes me a multitude of favors so rent won't be a problem. Plus she adores you. What do you think?"

"This is for me? To live here?" I asked, my eyes wide with shock. I couldn't believe he set this all up for me. The apartment was amazing too, my taste completely.

"Obviously," he said as if I was speaking complete nonsense, "This was all I could do on short notice but I was thinking I could put a writing desk by the window for you if you'd like."

"You did this for me?" I asked still stunned.

"Of course, I would do anything for you," he replied. This time I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him down to me for a kiss.

While I was admiring Sherlock's face and leaving kisses on his cheeks, lips and down his neck, he grabbed me by the hips and squeezed me against him. I let go of anything left that could hold me back. I wasn't scared anymore. He moved his hands down around my ass and let out a little moan.

"Is this okay?" he whispered to me.

"Yes," I answered and started to quickly unbutton his shirt while he moved me back towards the bed. We helped each other out of our clothes until we were both in our underwear just looking at each other, admiring each other's bodies. Sherlock looked so sexy in the soft light. His wavy locks a mess, a soft bit of hair on his chest and again running down to right above his boxers. The thin fabric could no longer contain his obvious sexual excitement.

"You are positively stunning," he said. I was laying on my back and he slowly moved over me, "I believe I was right about here last time before we were interrupted."

My body trembled under him. He touched me as though he had spent his entire life preparing for it. Playfully nipping at me in my most sensitive areas even I wasn't aware of, teasing and rubbing my nipples, running a soft line of kisses down my stomach all the way to where he'd been making me warm. I could feel his hot breath through my panties. I let out a whimper and moaned his name. When I looked down I saw him smile, he's so arrogant, I thought and smiled too.

Sherlock delicately pulled off my panties and then his own boxers. He climbed back over me supporting himself with his elbows and stayed like that, looking at me. His body felt warm and his skin was pure static everywhere it touched mine. We were both breathing heavy.

"Are you still okay?" He asked me again. He pushed my hair back and kissed my mouth.

"Yes," I answered. He pushed hard inside me and I moaned loudly. Staying there briefly and looked at me again to see if it was okay. I nodded not being able to talk and not wanting him to stop. We grabbed onto each other while he rocked me into the bed, our hands exploring. He kissed me hard and I moved my fingers through his hair and tugged.

"Sherlock," I could feel my stomach hot and my body felt like it was going to explode. He grabbed me tight and hard and I yelled out in a complete release, my whole body shaking. His breath quickened and he moaned loudly becoming heavy and gently moving back and then beside me.

"I never felt that before," Sherlock said looking at the ceiling, "I've been woman here and there but it's been robotic, mediocre. That was something completely different."

"I've never felt that either," I said. I put my head on his chest and he found my hand, kissed it and held it.

"Will you stay with me, Jane?" He asked.

"Of course," I answered, "Moriarty is still on the loose and you're going to need my help." He let out a soft wicked laugh and kissed my head. We fell asleep.

The End.


End file.
